


oranges in october

by honestlyfrance



Series: france's kisses bingo 2020 [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Post-Endgame, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson-centric, one (1) one arm joke because bucky is a dork, sam is trying so hard, sambucky in fall!!, they share an orange because intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27227692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestlyfrance/pseuds/honestlyfrance
Summary: You’d think that just because he had wings and he flies, that makes him an Icarus. Icarus fell to his death. He did not resurface, he did not live beyond that power. Sam Wilson soared high into the missiles of war and came back battered and red, dripping love and death as he stands in the aftermath of it all. You think he was an Icarus when he was actually Apollo. Anyone who gets close to him falls to the ocean waves, then sooner than later, he’s left singing eulogies as his heart rattles in a cage.ORSam Wilson was healing, quietly and slowly, beginning to learn to love again.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: france's kisses bingo 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847689
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	oranges in october

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhHelloFandoms123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhHelloFandoms123/gifts).



> for my good friend Al who is nothing but sunshine and a great friend to me. thank you for being patient with me lol. hope you like this! love ya!
> 
> based on the prompt word: lítost (czech, n.) - regret and remorse and repentance; a state of agony and torment; sorrow said to be created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery. also fills the kisses bingo square: hand holding. and let's pretend it's still oct 2 because that was the date i set this for :') also inspired by my sambucky fall/oranges ramblings. enjoy!

You’d think that just because he had wings and he flies, that makes him an Icarus. Icarus fell to his death. He did not resurface, he did not live beyond that power. Sam Wilson soared high into the missiles of war and came back battered and red, dripping love and death as he stands in the aftermath of it all. You think he was an Icarus when he was actually Apollo. Anyone who gets too close to him falls to the ocean waves, then sooner than later, he’s left singing eulogies as his heart rattles in a cage.

He’s sadness in a bottle. He’s got a lot of baggage, and it took so much of him to figure out how he was going to carry it.

If you ever wondered why tragedy is always romanticized, it was because the red was too much, and what else is there to do? They made songs out of the fallen and poems from their last breaths. Sam Wilson gasped, _“Let him live. Let me catch him_ ,” and his arms caught the air that whisked Riley away. He only had a few regrets.

Sam’s thoughts ran that day. He wondered what would have happened if he did catch him. Would Riley say some ridiculous remark, or would he be shaken, overcome with the trauma of near-death? Would Riley cry, or would he be quiet, forever empty? Would Sam never have left the Air Force or would he be more careful, a never-ending feeling of death following him? It was no use anyway. All that Sam thinks of was _What if I never met Riley?_ What if Sam never loved a man so much his death shattered his very soul. He’s battered. Gold can’t glue him back together. He’s seen so much red, it’s bleeding in his heart.

They buried an empty coffin.

Maybe if he had never let himself love then he wouldn’t get hurt. If Sam never let himself be vulnerable, maybe he could think of death as a missing person. Gone from your world, but somewhere out there living their best life, now that would be quite the belief. Sam wouldn’t have to spend so many nights alone if he had only let himself believe that. _What if I never met him?_ He thinks that he would be better off okay.

It’s selfish, he knows, but seeing it happen and pretend it never did was something awfully wrong to him. It was like driving through an empty highway in the dark, speeding by with your headlights the only source of light, and suddenly by your right, you see the mangled corpse of some dead thing on the side of the road. You were too late, you couldn’t stop now or turn back around. It was dream-like, it always was. Sam couldn’t turn back and save it. It was like he didn’t know him anymore.

He’s screaming in his head because Riley wasn’t supposed to die young. That man had ambitions and plans. The world hadn’t had the right to do something so cruel.

If anyone tried to touch his hand, it would only go through. Sam couldn’t feel himself as he mourned. It’s all falling apart.

The thing is, it wasn’t just Riley. It was everyone who ever tried to be close to him. He’s a grown man whose most feared words were still, _“Your mother isn’t coming home”_ and he wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain it. He knows he doesn’t owe an explanation about his grievances, but the thing that terrifies himself is the fact that he can’t even begin to explain _anything_. Sam can’t say how much he loved these people to even begin to comprehend how much it hurts. It’s a pool of love that drained itself every time he tried to do so. He can’t reach the seafloor.

Sometimes he thinks his remorse is just an overreaction, and then he becomes numb to the point it’s his normal to grieve this deeply.

He’s trying. He’s trying so hard. Please believe him when he says it.

He sees himself break and he doesn't even know what from. He's falling so slow he braces for the impact before he even brought out his wings. God, he’s trying, believe him when he says it.

Sam knows he's shattered. He's looking like a lost cause. Like a bruise pressed every time he sees it, he's screaming for the ache. He wants to live but at the same time, he wants every tear he shed to drown him. Heaven sighs at their angel, and Sam's going down like Babylon.

He's lonely, after the war. He's curled into his sheets as if everything was too loud to look at. He left the Air Force then he's looking up into the sky, wondering if every pararescue was an angel in disguise. Sam’s eyes were tired and he wished for a kiss goodnight.

Forgive him. He's sad and lonely. He wants to romanticize every single quiver of life before he loses it.

Goddamn, how he loses it. Sam walked alone on the pavement and dropped his umbrella, feels the first drop of rain on his cheek like a lover's kiss. And, oh, he's gone mad — mad with loneliness. He wants to kiss the sun all of the sudden but his tongue tasted like ashes from the war he died to escape from. He's losing his mind deciding if he's allowed to love again, and now he's shattered as he thinks about it.

 _Is a kiss any less lovely if it had been a different set of lips?_ Sam's turned to Shakespeare just wondering about it. He's still trying, believe him. It's just that the wounds on his back ran deeper than the trenches in the ocean and no one seemed to want to even acknowledge the depths of it. No one wanted a scar so deep they'd have to fill it with love to dig out the doubt.

War made poor boys angry and Sam might be one of them, he doesn't know. The pull of heaven’s light is enough to blind him but he knows the books, don't trust his own faith as much as he's used to. He's praying blindly and confesses as if he's got the right to in the first place.

If repentance was a kiss, Sam wouldn't even think he'd deserve to think about it.

He moves sluggish but that’s what depression does to you. It takes all of his might to even hold his niece in his arms without crying and then his sister's whispering in his ear, _"I love you, Sam, but don't you ever hurt yourself."_ He finds himself in front of the VA Hospital in D.C. and suddenly he’s crying in the car as he drives home afterward. It was like an ocean wave cleansed his soul, but the shore was still a mess, he knew as much, but he'd watched the water ebb and flow for as long as the day burns bright.

There are years of healing after that, and he knows he’s trying, believes it some days but sometimes he forgets. It felt like eons finding help. Sam tells himself that war kept chasing him when in reality he just misses it, jumps at the first sight of danger, and follows it through the depths of hell. It wasn’t his fault — no one’s fault really. Who was to predict that Sam would be an Avenger?

No one thinks that what he does is like war, but Sam could sense the familiarity. He’s soaring into the sky and he’s kicking helicopters by the tail. He’s following orders and sending them out, back on a team so different from his own that it grounds him into reality. _This isn’t war,_ he thinks, _it’s just what your body wants you to think_.

Sometimes he’s falling and he feels like he’s in another dream. Other times, he’s dreaming and he screams. But he knew that he shouldn’t regret what he had lost, all he needed was to take care of what he has now before he loses it later. You know, Natasha Romanoff once said that he was the embodiment of the present, _so aware of your surroundings, you pick out exit strategies as if you made the floorplan. You don’t think of how the past is haunting you or even think of what you could have._

 _I’m trying to get through the day_ , he says to himself and her. _Little things like these keep me okay_.

Years pass and he finds what he could have had a little too late. He appreciated what he had had with his closest friends but he feels like pouring alcohol on a wound that never truly healed. Sam finds out Natasha was gone and he breaks even further, grief becoming too much of a permanent thing in his life.

He's singing Ave Maria as he's dying.

Some days he thinks his bones are ivory and hunters are watching him. Some days he’s the one sitting on the grass basking up the sunlight, and those were the okay times.

It took many years to feel okay.

Today was one of those days where he’s stuck in limbo, in the ‘in-between’ of both of these things. It was one of those days when you asked if he was fine, he’d say, “ _Let me think about it_ ” just because he truly was tired to even think of it.

But he’s standing somewhere else other than his apartment so that was some really great progress. Definitely far more different than his days stuck inside of September; the only perk of that month was that his friends understood that he wanted to spend his birthday at home instead of going all out.

It was now October, a variety of orange and red so vibrant it looked like a beacon of hope in such bleak times for Sam. He was standing outside, in his favorite navy coat, fall boots, fitting jeans, and a turtleneck sweater. He’s even got his favorite beanie but that doesn’t mean he’s lenient about Bucky Barnes dragging his ass all the way to Manhattan.

“Brooklyn is fun and all but Steve said to go here,” Bucky said as he locked the car door and linked their arms together, leading Sam towards the greenmarket in the near distance. “Besides, we both need a change of scenery. Ain’t it pretty, Sammy?”

Sam wasn’t looking at the scenery actually, of stalls with white tarps for roofs against the saturated trees that surround them, all planned and lined perfectly for this occasion. As far as he’s concerned, it was just nerves from going on this trip all the way to another borough. Bucky was kinda cute for matching his clothes with him but he really thought the costume the man put together was too much. Bucky caught him staring and smiled, kind of playful and bashful actually.

“Like what you see, Wilson?” Bucky asked into his ear.

Sam grimaced. “The only thing I like is the boots. That, you can pull off. Your lack of commitment to the pirate costume is appalling,” he gestured over Bucky’s outfit: knee-high boots, black slacks, and a baggy dress shirt under a navy blue coat reminiscent of an actual pirate’s coat. “Your polo isn’t even the poofy kind. You don’t even have a feathered hat. Shame, James, forshame.”

Bucky snorted, shifting his arm so Sam can hold onto it. “I like the coat,” he says, as he rolls his shoulders and tugs on the lapels. “I kind of missed yesterday, so I go all out today.”

“Hey, man. You got all month to do this,” Sam’s wringing his hands as they walked at a slow pace he was comfortable in. “Just don’t embarrass me with your clashing color scheme.”

Bucky scrunched up his face as he tried to peck Sam’s nose. “I’ll try not to, birdy.”

“And was it— I’m sorry, just— Why do I have to carry Liho? I thought old man Steve was gonna babysit the cats.”

Bucky chuckled as they were met with the stalls of fresh produce. Liho, Natasha’s black cat, was in a carrier on Sam’s back, and just to poke fun, Bucky double-checked the straps of the backpack like an over-protective parent. “Well, since you’ve taken the brave step of taking care of her, I thought it best that we should get along before she moves in with us,” he said with utmost sincerity, scratching the back of Liho’s ears to which she leaned into. “Besides, I know how important she was to you,” _Natasha. You loved her, didn’t you?_ “I want to… y’know, be a part of this and love what you love.”

“Oh. _Oh,_ ” Sam could feel his face warm at that, ducking his head as he caught sight of Bucky’s shy smile. “Yeah, uh. I don’t know. I just thought that she’d be better off with me.”

“Yeah. Liho likes you a lot more than Steve. Barely looks at him,” Bucky says. “Think Stevie’s had enough so I just left Alpine and Figaro with ‘im.”

“With the man that didn’t know how to take care of himself as a twenty-something-year-old let alone old enough to be _your_ grandpa?” Sam joked as Bucky led them to the first stall, chuckling. “I trusted him with my six, not my cat.”

Bucky turned to him and then the produce in front of them. “Look! Peppers!” He said, grabbing a few choice ones. Sam sighed at that, but he knew he shouldn’t worry. It was all for show.

As Bucky continued to chat with the sellers and put all of his stuff in eco-bags, he did not once let go of their linked arms. Besides, Sam was content with carrying the half-full bag. Occasionally, Sam would pick which fruits were best while Bucky coos and awes at Liho behind him. It was great actually. Sam forgot he was in this ‘in-between’ space in the first place.

The wind catches the tail of Bucky’s coat and it flutters in the air for a moment. Sam looked up at the sky and saw the bleak grey of it, like smoke swirling above their heads right from their lips. He didn’t smoke as much anymore, but it never really does come down to that. Hearing the low chatter of people was nice, and the marketplace wasn’t as crowded as he feared— and it’s nice. He forgets that he’s tired by the time Bucky started filling another bag.

Sam sees the orange trees around them and the sound of a helicopter comes overhead. He’s heard helicopters and planes take off a lot of times for the past years, even flown one just a week ago. He looked up and saw two helicopters blend in with the smoky sky. In his head echoes, _Let him live. Let me catch him,_ and he’s suddenly nauseous.

The red was a sea that beckoned him and he’s an ambitious sailor.

He’s suddenly stuck in place as his eyes were glued to the sky, shoulders stiff as he tried to make himself smaller. He’s frozen, his heart slowly but deeply pounding in his chest it almost filled him with pain, unable to breathe freely.

He tugged on Bucky’s arm when Bucky tried to move, disrupting his dilemma on what apple looks best. Bucky turns around and frowns. “Sam?” He took the bag from Sam’s hands and he whispered again, “Sam, I’m gonna take you someplace quieter, okay?”

Sam shuddered a breath, eyes glazed over as he craned his head. He's gone, someplace else where the smoke in the sky suffocated him and tried to kill him.

And he's falling, letting gravity do the work as he dodges missiles. Riley was right in front of him, always trusting Sam to catch his six, always so cocky in the air. In his ear were one of their teammates below them, speaking fast about coordinates.

Pricks of debris hit his face and he's doing twists and turns as he and Riley split, the missiles tailing them. They curved into the air, met in the middle, and the missiles caught each other as they fell together, the whirring of helicopters louder than anything else.

Afghanistan was an orange desert and even hotter skies, Sam could feel his wings melt into his back every time he flew, and years later he would be in the hospital with scars running down his back, wondering if it was all worth it.

Death shouldn’t have taken something so easily.

Suddenly Sam was kicking a helicopter in the tail and they both went down in different directions. With Sam free falling with his wings folded, he's not even looking at how the first helicopter crashed into the other, the two in a fiery whirlpool of an explosion.

In the midst of all the noise, Sam had barely heard Riley in his comms, and then static. Overhead was another explosion, an RPG, they said.

Being ricocheted by the force, Sam loses balance in the air as the heat of the explosion rippled on his bare skin, and he swears to God that he could feel his skin boil, almost feeling as if it had been peeled off.

“Man down! Man down!" One of his teammates had yelled. They all split into different directions, still set on their mission.

But Sam was the closest one to Riley when it happened, could feel himself shake at the thought of another one dying on his watch — _right before his eyes_. This time, it was different. It was as if Riley was personally telling him to hung up the wings and escape before he dies too.

He already died with the first one.

Bucky rubs Sam’s arm up and down as he brings them to a quiet bench far away from the people, close to the stalls, and had a view of the parking lot. He sits Sam down and takes Liho from the backpack, setting the cat down on Sam’s lap.

Bucky kneeled in front of Sam and brushed his thumb on the man’s knee. “You’re here, baby. I’m here. You can look at me.”

It takes a while, but Sam takes a shuddered breath and looks anywhere else. His hands are clenched together, nails digging into his palms he’s sure there would be marks left behind.

He's stoic, static numb as all he could hear were the helicopters fading in the distance. Sam was somewhere else altogether, and Bucky could see that, had _felt_ that. Bucky knew that all he could do was be there, ready to take in Sam for all he is because that’s what the man needed. The man needed someone to be there and Bucky _will_ be.

Sam finally takes a deep breath as he shakes, hands rigged on his lap as Liho paws at them.

“Sam,” Bucky whispered, both hands on the man’s knees, pushing down softly. “Look at me, please. You’re home, alright? Manhattan, remember?”

And he does. Sam’s met with those azure eyes and he feels at home all of a sudden; he breathes in and he smells ocean deep waves and then he’s sailing. He was an ambitious sailor, but he tries to set straight towards the horizon and there’s nothing but light blue skies and their cotton candy clouds. Sam’s hands wring themselves together as Liho settles on his lap, the pinpricks of claws grounding him. Then Sam’s blinking away tears because honestly, he can’t tell if that was smart or just making him sadder.

He takes slow stuttered breaths as they stay like that for a while. Bucky whispering comforting things to Sam as he looked around to ground himself — to remind himself. He was doing so well, but he knew it takes a man a while to walk at his own pace.

The things he did so others may live. Sam’s hands shake, aching for the weight of his wings on his shoulders again. He’s currently feeling the wind pinprick his face with needles of debris, and his body scalds, burning like a sun as if he’s back at the explosion that started it all.

“Car is two lots down. Next stall is five strides over,” Bucky speaks seriously, his eyes set cold in Sam’s general direction. “There is an alleyway two buildings down to your five o’clock, which leads to an empty road.”

Sam exhales slow and long, blinking rapidly as he tried to think. “We’re in the greenmarket in Manhattan. I used to come here with my sister before college. She always buys… buys…”

“Hm. There’s a knife in my boot and you wore your holster.” Bucky said.

“It’s empty,” Sam’s eyes met Bucky’s now, straightforward if anything. Then he could feel his tongue now, his chest light for a moment. “Sarah used to buy oranges.”

Bucky shakes his head, lips pursing. “I knew it was empty. Still, you wanted a holster,” then he takes a second, smiles at Sam. “I’ll buy you oranges. Is that what you want?”

Sam shook his head. “I want grapes, oranges, and some flowers.”

“There’s a flower stall we passed by,” Bucky says, and then he’s setting his cheek against the inside of Sam’s thigh, looking up at him softly. Sam smiled as he runs a hand through his man’s hair. “I can think of a million flower puns for you.”

“Okay,” and Sam leaned over and poked Bucky on the head. “You make it so easy to be with you.”

“And I love you even more,” Bucky whispers, and he’s running circles on Sam’s knee, sending a shiver down his spine.

When Sam looks at himself, all he could think of was how far he’s gone with his healing, carrying all this agony and tragedy on his back like how Atlas carries the heavens. He’s defeated with it, but it’s a part of him and who was he to not accept himself? He’s on the way to forgiveness, mercy to his sins he knew he doesn’t have but what the hell. Everyone heals differently.

Bucky kisses each one of Sam’s knuckles until the man could stand up on his own. His lover’s smile is soft and full of fondness that Sam could only share the same look when Bucky made him exchange coats. It’s weird with Sam’s turtleneck sweater (the same shade even) but at least he’s wrapped around Bucky’s arms as they walked to a flower stall nearby.

“Sunflowers, for my dandelion,” Bucky says as he reached for the flower and hands it over to Sam who accepted it with a smile. His hand rests on the small of Sam’s back as he paid for the flower and a bouquet of roses.

Sam rests his head against Bucky’s, humming as he felt the man move around to collect their strange collection of flowers.

“Oh, wait, these are safe for cats, right?” Bucky asks as the vendor handed over the two bouquets.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” the lady says with a wave of a hand. “Good thing you asked.”

 _Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the cat posse_ , Sam wanted to say but he can’t find it in himself to talk. He felt disconnected as he caught sight of his hands, little dents of his nails imprinted on his palms. Besides that, he chuckled at his own joke, lets himself have that.

Bucky smiled fondly at that then furrowed his eyebrows as they began to walk away. “Wait, where’s Liho?” he asked as he looked around, fixing the bouquet in his arms. His eyes landed behind Sam and his eyes softened. “Oh my God, she really does adore you, shit.”

Sam looked over his shoulder to see the black cat following him on her feet, the tail of the coat in her mouth. Bucky only shoved the flowers in Sam’s hands, taking out his phone and a picture.

“The Winter Soldier’s weakness is cats. Who would’ve thought?”

“Nah. You also make me weak,” Bucky says, planting a kiss on Sam’s cheek and then takes another picture of him.

Sam shoved him and began to walk carefully now that Liho is right at his feet. “You’re a dork,” he said, and he’s kind of okay, fixing the bouquets in his arms.

“Sweetheart, it’s called being a romantic,” Bucky retorts, but he’s blushing when he says it. “Let’s buy some oranges then go home.”

Forgive him. Sam forgot how romance worked.

Wishing that time could go slower never works for Sam. It whizzes by like a kite, all independent and controlled at the same time, it shouldn’t have worked in the first place. The only time it ever slows down is at its last seconds, when the ticking gets faster but the movie reels frame by frame, and you’re in the blast radius, ended like a bomb.

He wishes he could hold this moment into his hands. Bucky cracked open an orange as if it wasn’t the bane of every person’s existence and lets Sam smell it, the citrus and the fragrance, smelling like home and summer days as if it could always be in your hands. Sam thinks if he wanted to slow down time he could just share an orange with Bucky.

As they walk with their bags and Liho in tow, Bucky puts a whole orange segment in his mouth because he’s a disgusting fool who tolerated the string of fruit. Sam scrunched his face at that but Bucky didn’t see it, just spat out the seeds and threw them away in the nearest trash bin; another little thing to keep for himself. Sam felt like a winner every time.

“I’m sorry if it’s too much for you,” Bucky whispered to Sam as they walk down a busier aisle much later. Their shoulders brush with each other as Liho walked ahead of them. “But we both know you needed some air. Just a nudge, right?”

Sam’s mouth twitched to a smile, then he’s ducking. “You saw the state of me. You’re not sorry.”

“I’m not sorry for caring so much for you.”

“Let’s go home, Buck.”

“Can we stop by a Mcdonald’s?”

“Oh, no. Jawline, we have too much fruit for that.”

Bucky chuckled at that, smiling at his feet as they walked. Sam switched the bag to his other arm and intertwined their free hands together. Maybe he knew some hand-holding action, but wow does he feel a bit overwhelmed at the action.

Sam’s jittery as they walked along the parking lot, an expanse he never knew could be so terrifying until now. Bucky’s got Liho tucked in his elbow and a bag of oranges in his other hand, swaying in between them; the man smiled at him, and it kills him a bit. It kills something in Sam because he thinks again, _What if I never met him?_ What if he never met a man so amazing all he could ever do is be stuck wondering how long will the regret decay him — how long until remorse turns into death and Sam’s carrying his gravestone?

Bucky’s smile is one heck of an image and Sam can’t believe grief tried to touch it.

Sam couldn’t believe his own grief tried to touch his own smile.

Taking a shuddering breath, Sam flexes his hand in Bucky’s and tries to steady himself. It’s just— Some days, Sam’s left wondering if five years is too many years to grieve. Heck, it wasn’t just five years, it was more. His heart breaks faster than the rate of a river and he’s afraid his current isn’t ever going to slow down.

They get inside the car, Bucky starting the engine and turning on the AC just as soon as Sam started putting on his seatbelt. “Hey, you okay, sweetie?” Bucky asked as he traced Sam’s cheek. “Honey? Dandelion? Honeysuckle? The more you stay quiet the weirder and outlandish these pet names are gonna be,” he scrunched his face in thought, raising an eyebrow. “… _Grass?_ ”

Sam snorted but his eyes still drooped down to the floor. “This trip’s just… It took a lot from me, you know?” He whispered, and his voice quivers. Bucky moved his hand to Sam’s knee, rubbing circles on it. “Do you think we can stay in a hotel?”

Bucky’s eyes darted out and to Sam. “In-In Manhattan? Baby boy, I know you’re from Manhattan but I’m only one credit card.” He says with all seriousness that Sam cracked a bright smile. “We’ll go, of course. This just means I can’t ask if we’re going to your rose bush or mine—”

Sam smacked Bucky’s shoulder as Liho hopped into the backseat. He laughed as he turned away and leaned against the window, resting his hand on his lips. “Too little too late for flower puns, and you’re getting a failed score for the pacing of the dirtiness of it.”

Bucky stifled a laugh as he puts the car in reverse, starting to pull the car out of the parking space. “Aw, and I thought I was gonna get some nectar out of this— Ow! I’ll stop, oh my god, just find some bookings.” He then pulls out his phone from his pocket and tosses it to Sam who catches it with lesser grace.

“And for that, I’m getting a four-star hotel,” Sam said, making kissy faces at Bucky.

Scoffing, Bucky exited the parking lot and onto the road as Sam entered an address into Google Maps despite knowing exactly where they’re going. It was a four-star hotel they once stayed at on one of their missions, and they would be lying if they weren’t just dying imagining being there again. They haven’t slept in a bed so soft and a room so cold since then and with Steve’s credit card in their hands, they’re sure the old man wouldn’t mind it.

Sam caught his reflection in the window and saw the smile on his face. He pursed his lips and watched the busy street and cars zoom past them, resting his head against the headrest.

This wasn’t the first time it happened— When he could feel his heart radiating with sunlight only to lose that happiness once he caught a glimpse of it, seeing nothing but every broken thing he had in him. He’s been telling himself that it’s okay to have that kindness but all his life he’s seen the bleakness of it, honestly was it all worth it?

Bucky poked Sam’s face with a grape before popping it into his mouth. Bucky handed another one to Sam once he gained his attention. Sam reluctantly took it and popped it into his mouth, recognizing the slight sourness and the overwhelming sweetness of the juice.

“Seedless?” Sam asked, and Bucky hummed. Sam took another grape from the bundle Bucky placed by the gear shift. “Glad you remembered.”

Sam’s sadness in a bottle but moments like these, he feels like he could carry light memories instead.

Once upon a time, Bucky once said that he could count the years they’ve known each other on one hand. Sam said, “ _Bet_ ,” and Bucky jerked his left shoulder in return. That was after Bucky’s lost his metal arm in Siberia and a little bit before he got a new one he could call a prosthetic in Wakanda. Sam couldn’t have helped himself, cracked a grin that Bucky returned, and after that moment Bucky could count the years they’ve known each other in two hands.

Bucky refused to believe their years in the soul stone didn’t involve a lot of work strengthening their friendship. Sam does let him count the years: Two years on the run after the Accords (which consisted of a lot of remote video calls), five years in the soul stone (Apparently, that’s counted. Bucky’s insulted Sam wouldn’t believe so.), two years as partners on the field, and eight months officially dating. _All in all, the best years of my life_ , Bucky always said. He didn’t even count the total but Sam thinks it was more romantic this way.

The ride was quiet just the way they liked it. It gave them their own space, especially during days when they just wanted to run the day so slow they could barely make out the time. Sam glanced over at Bucky and they met eyes, smiling to themselves as they looked back towards the windshield.

Whenever he feels a little melancholic and dull, Sam thinks of what he has, and he thinks it’s nice. They’re planning some vacation for Christmas time and they both knew the relationship was going somewhere good. He could think it’s smooth sailing from there, and he didn’t think of this enough to prepare himself for the realization.

Forgive him. He’s fallen like Babylon and his tongue is split in half. Sam could feel his mind speak languages the other couldn’t understand.

What he has now was scary considering that he could lose it at any moment. Was he even ready? Whenever Sam looked at himself all he could think of was his healing heart instead of its lively music, the way it could strum life and he’d still forget all he’s learned. It’s intimidating, is all. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve to forget all he’s known (Heck, he was a counselor — all he’s shared!). If it comes to him, it feels unnatural; when it’s other people, he’s cutting his hand helping them out.

Bucky’s got his hand on Sam’s knee as he drove. Sam slept that way, with one protective hand on his knee and his heart elsewhere.

The next time they were holding hands was when they walked into the hotel. Bucky had fun swinging their arms together as they walked and as Sam carried the flowers in his arms. Bucky’s pirate coat was left in the car as well as some of their bags and Liho. _No cats in hotels_ , they said. Sharon was coming home from an undercover mission upstate and she’d swung by to leave the two stranded with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Fine by them — they could afford to spend the night.

As soon as they got their keycard and their room on the ninth floor, Sam and Bucky were practically sprinting down the classy hallway — accents of gold against maroon, flower vases in between paintings, laughing as quietly as they could, their hands never letting go of each other.

Bucky swiped the card to their room and brought them inside, and before Sam could even gasp at the room it was swallowed by a deep kiss on the lips. Dropping all of their stuff on the floor, Bucky shrugged off the coat on him. Sam ran his hands through Bucky’s hair as Bucky had his hands on his hips as he backed him against the door. The doorknob jabbed Sam’s ass and Bucky must’ve noticed because they were giggling into each other’s mouths by then.

With a last kiss, Bucky let go of Sam’s lips and held his breath for a moment, eyes still closed. He sighed as he said, “I missed you. I love you. Where’d you go, huh?”

Sam moaned as he moved away from the doorknob, smiling as he leaned his head against the door. “Whatever you mean, jawline?” he meant it to be playful, he swears, but it comes out quite somber.

Bucky frowned as he opened his eyes, his fingers trailing Sam’s cheeks. “You know what I mean. A flyboy like you would have his head in the clouds,” he glanced at Sam’s eyes before diving into his neck, whispering, “I ain’t NASA to bring you down, but you gotta remember. You’re not an astronaut who’s on a mission… You’re Captain America on his day-off.”

Sam hummed, setting his chin on the top of Bucky’s head. He could feel his own frown with the knot in his eyebrows. “I know,” he spoke. “I want an orange, honey.”

Patting Sam on the waist, Bucky led him with their hands still intertwined into the bedroom. The hotel room was big enough for a living room and a joint kitchen in the main room wherein the wide-open doorway led to the bedroom with the queen-sized bed, soft and comfy as fuck, bouncing a bit as they melted into it. The curtains were cream-colored that contrasted with the deep red walls in the bedroom, closed to give them privacy. They both knew the view, which was the faraway sight of Central Park and the skyscrapers behind it. Instead of checking it out, they were already set on cuddling until they had to pick up the bags of fruit they had left by the door.

They settle for tracing their lover’s body, content in the silence they made for themselves. Bucky’s right hand caressed Sam’s hips and his other arm brought the man close to him so he could lay on his chest. Sam’s hand was picking at Bucky’s hair and the other was tracing circles at the man’s collarbone, pecking kisses in between hums.

Bucky hummed, rolling over so he was on top of Sam and leaning over the bed. “Hold on, cheekbones, I gotcha oranges,” he murmured, almost sleepy. Sam hummed happily as he was blanketed in his sweetheart’s body, wrapping his arms and legs around him.

He wasn’t always this clingy — touchy with anyone. When he fell from those great heights back then, the only touch he ever got was from the wind, from the debris, from the pain. He breathed hard in this touch, heavy and drunk in adrenaline. Sam learned to chase after the danger, to feel that warm embrace from death itself, and it’s almost concerning, almost suicidal, but by the time he was running from the government and everything he had for the second time he already learned how to dance around the risks. Nothing good came from moving country to country so fast there was barely a pattern to it. Just ask him; he’s forgotten what it was like to sit in the backyard and enjoy a nice cool glass of iced tea with your partner.

Bucky got off of him, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll go get and wash them,” he whispered into Sam’s mouth before taking his lips into his. He lets go before it could go anywhere further and Sam groaned at that. “Stay here.”

Sam knitted his eyebrows together as he closed his eyes, feeling Bucky’s warmth escape him. He could hear the fast pitter-patter of footsteps headed towards the living room with the joint kitchen. “Come back, baby,” he murmured into the empty room as he stretched his limbs across the bed.

It takes only a few minutes, Bucky coming back with a bowl of fruits so high he had to use his hand to stop it from toppling. _Two of each one_ , they always did so. “I never left, sweetheart,” he spoke as he straddled Sam’s hips. He took a piece of grape from the side of the pile and fed it to Sam. “Tell me about your day?”

Sam chewed as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Hell, I was with you, man.”

“Yeah, but,” Bucky spoke, his voice coming softer now. He set the bowl on the bed and ran his fingers under Sam’s sweater, just at the hips. “Did you sleep well?”

Sam leaned back as he swallowed, feeling squirmish under his fingers. “I guess. It was okay. Didn’t remember my dream.” he said. “Is there something wrong?”

Bucky shook his head, but he was frowning. He brought Sam to sit up straight, holding onto his shoulders. “Are _you_ okay?”

Sam shrugged, his eyes casting towards the bowl. “Peel me an orange,” he murmured, handing over the biggest one on the top of the fruit pile.

With nothing but a slight nod, Bucky scooted to sit back as he began to peel the orange. Their knees knocked against each other as Sam placed the bowl in between them and grabbed tissues to place the mess in. First, Bucky punctured his finger into the top and cracked the fruit in half with ease, as if it was nothing, setting the other half in the bowl for a moment. Sam could already smell the citrus in the air. Second, Bucky peeled the skin off with less ease now, only managing to get the top off until he had pulled out a knife from the inside of his boot. Third, after knocking his shoes off with Sam en-suite, Bucky had cut the orange in his left hand into slices with delicacy, being careful not to make a dent in his hand. By then, there was a dribble of juice coming from every wedge which Bucky had accidentally squeezed too tight with his grip. No matter. Sam thinks a little tissue can’t fix.

“It’s seedless. Just the way you like it,” Bucky said, a little shy as he does so. By then, his metal hand was dripping to the wrist. He leaned in and licked it all off, sucking at the joint in his wrist. “It’s the kind that you put it in your mouth and smile.”

Sam grabbed a wedge, watching Bucky take one and put it all in his mouth, smiling, the orange skin outwards as his grin reached his eyes. He laughed, and for a moment all was good. “You’re weird,” he says instead, ignoring how much he wanted to kiss him silly.

Bucky spat it back out after sucking at it a bit, the pulp was now all gone with the skin all its left as he chewed. “You chose to love this weirdo,” he retorted, stretching his legs behind Sam so he can lean backward on the bed.

“I did, didn’t I?” Sam couldn’t stop himself. It felt right that way.

Just like in the marketplace, time slowed just a bit as Sam began to eat his orange. Some juice ran down his fingers as he took the pulp in his mouth, not eating it all like Bucky did, leaving the drained pulp with the skin and tossing it into their pile. It’s quiet in their hotel room, the only sound being their lips moving, and they smiled about that.

“Are you gonna tell me?” Bucky broke the silence, pinching his third slice.

Sam looked up and saw those blue eyes, and something burns in him. “I’m tired,” his voice cracks and his sigh was stuttered. “I’m… I’m so tired,” and his eyes break contact, feeling his shoulders curl within himself. “I’m just… I’m…”

Bucky carefully sets aside their food and brings Sam into the crook of his arms, nuzzling and setting a deep kiss on the forehead. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Consider this as your trial day,” he whispered as Sam tucked his feet into the pillows. “You can start whenever. We can lie around all day. We have no plans, right?”

Sam shook his head, pinching his fingertips as he rests his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s not about being Captain America, Buck,” he spoke carefully. “After that talk with Steve, I’ve come to terms with it. It’s been two years anyway. I know what to do now. It comes naturally now.”

Bucky whispered, “Then what is it?”

With a shaky breath, “R-Riley. _Natasha_.” it’s stuck in his throat, like a dam ready to burst. Bucky only squeezed him tighter, now curled into his arms. “I lost so much… It’s like heaven and hell can’t decide where I’d go so they settled me into purgatory.” He gasped, wiping away the tears that escaped him. “It’s like dying twice and my soul has nowhere to go.

“Have you ever lost someone you tried to keep… to be with for so long?” Sam continued, his voice was so small as he tried to keep himself together. Bucky nodded. “To me, it was like salt to a wound that never _healed._ Just when I thought I could get better… I just get hurt _even more._

“When will it end? I don’t want to start all over again. I don’t want to feel so _numb.”_

Wiping away Sam’s tears, Bucky softly spoke, “You don’t have to find the next person to love,” Sam sniffled as he closed his eyes and Bucky’s heart twinges at the sight. “It’s not your job to fear death for them. I’m gonna need you to start with yourself, Sam.”

“I already fear death,” Sam speaks, tracing the lines on his palm as his head started to hurt, eyes beginning to water again. “I attract it like a magnet.”

“You’re human,” Bucky said, rubbing careful circles on Sam’s back. “We make smart choices because of it. I need you to _love_ yourself.”

“I will.” Sam nodded, and as he laid right here, he tried to calm himself. He could feel his body grow heavier every second he felt Bucky’s hand run over him, and soon Bucky laid them down and soothed him into sleep.

He dreamt of nothing when he slept, but he could feel himself feel better. It was the kind of sleep that made him feel — _to the bones and to the veins_ — that he was being taken care of, and how could he forget of all the years he’s healed. He’s trying, believe him and he did. When he rose and fell to sleep, all he could feel was the weight of his lover’s arm around him.

It was the later afternoon that Sam finally woke up, the first thing he saw was the back of Bucky’s head. They weren’t tangled into each other like what you see in the movies and the books; they had their own space on either side of the bed, but Sam had his hands around Bucky’s wrist. Sam felt himself smile at that.

He’s trying. He’s trying hard, has a routine for him to set habits like exercising every six in the morning and going to the grocery store every Tuesday. It was like waking up for the first time, chest light with no burden of guilt.

Sam knows he’s been loving himself. He does, he does.

When Bucky woke up, he turned his head to Sam, eyes still closed. “Sam… you awake?” he spoke, his voice gruff with sleep. Sam hummed, running his thumb against the man’s wrist to which he smiled. “Did you sleep well? Didn’t wanna wake you.”

“I did.” _Thank you._

“Let’s eat, huh?” Bucky says. He stood up, stretching. He must’ve slept last because he was wearing nothing but his boxers and socks, Sam, on the other hand, was just shirtless with wearing the hotel’s pajamas. “Oranges, right?” Then he went back out to retrieve the fruits he put inside the fridge hours ago.

You’d think that just because he had wings and he flies, that makes him an angel. He was not. Sam Wilson was just human, complete with all of the burden, grief, sadness, and brokenness one could have. And he shouldered it all like Atlas, the heavens on his shoulders because that was a part of him. It was only a part of him, and even if he was still bearing all this weight he knew that it didn’t — _never_ — defined him.

Bucky sat back down on the bed as Sam sat himself up, eyeing the bundle of grapes and the apples. Bucky had passed an orange slice and Sam eats it. Summer and ocean waves overcome Sam, at peace eating like this. Juice dribbled down his wrist and he licks it all off, never wasting a drop. He’s smiling, and he’s happy.

“It’s just an orange, sweetheart,” Bucky joked, but they both knew it was more than that.

He may have collapsed but he didn’t forget how to love. Sam never forgot how he could pour love like a drink to the glass, giving and giving but drinking and drinking in return. All these years of wondering how he could ever love someone so much that it broke him turned into years wondering how he could have ever forgotten to love himself sooner. Repentance was in the form of flowers he bought himself every Sunday and bubble baths after a long day of being Captain America. If he ever believed that repentance was a kiss, he was confessing to the wrong priest.

As he looked up to see Bucky feeding himself a bundle of grapes, Sam’s heart fluttered just a bit.

“What are you so smiley about?” Sam asked once he saw Bucky once again put a whole orange slice in his mouth to accent his smile, juice dribbling down the side of his lips.

Bucky pulled out the orange and licked his lips, his grin wide as he leaned into Sam as if sharing a secret. “I tricked my boyfriend into eating his fruits,” he whispered, and Sam kicked his thigh at that. “We still have the day. What do you want to do?”

Sam shrugged, tossing aside his third orange slice. “I wanna see you half an apple with your bare hands.”

“Strange request, but I understand the appeal.” Bucky teased, grabbing an apple from the pile, shiny under the lights above them, and began to pinch at the top which proceeded to crack at the top down.

They scooted closer to each other, knees kept knocking against each other as they ate in silence, occasionally wiping away some orange juice that kept on mysteriously appearing on their hands and the sides of their lips. Somehow as they shared the other half of the orange from the morning, their hands intertwined, and just like all those moments before, time slowed down. Their hearts matching the pace of the other, and with that, it was easier to breathe, easier now that they’re in each other’s presence.

Now when Bucky touches Sam’s hand, their fingers only tangle together, almost instinctively. Sam could feel himself come together. Everything felt like it could fall into place.

Sam loved, loved, and loved, broke under duress because he couldn’t believe grief tried to touch that. Now as the sun sets and the world continued to move, he loved once more — not just for the man before him, but also himself.

**Author's Note:**

> oh the intimacy of oranges and hotel rooms. unbelievable
> 
> it would mean a lot if you left a comment or kudos so i could know if yall liked this idea :D
> 
> find me on tumblr [@honestlyfrance](https://honestlyfrance.tumblr.com/)


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